“Can you think of any reason why anyone would have wanted to get rid of Gladys Long?”
“Only that she was there when Monty was killed,” Crispin said. “She certainly wasn’t at Newnham in -21. But everyone in that flat—” he glanced at me and Christopher, “everyone other than the three of us, could have known who did it.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Crispin shook his head. “I asked. She said she didn’t know. That she was in the kitchen with Dom when it happened. That when they came out into the hallway, the other three were clustered around the door to the butler’s pantry, and Monty was on the floor.”
And that might have been the truth.
On the other hand, if she hadn’t known who the killer was, why get rid of her?
“Did she talk about going to the police?” I wanted to know, and Crispin shot me a look.
“She didn’t bring it up. I did. I said, if she and Dom could vouch for each other, it had to be either Blanton, Hutchison, or Ogilvie who had killed Monty, and why didn’t I drive her to Scotland Yard so she could tell the police what she knew?”
“But she said no.”
Crispin nodded. “I didn’t get the feeling that she was worried, if it matters. Not about anyone coming after her. She felt bad about Monty, but he wasn’t a friend, and she was more concerned that one of the others might be arrested for it. It didn’t seem to be about her own safety at all. She said she had to keep quiet so they’d be all right.”
“And the car you saw could have belonged to Blanton, or could have been used by Ogilvie or Hutchison?”
Crispin nodded. “I imagine Ronnie would have been happy to lend it to either of them, had they asked.”
“Blanton was at home when we stopped by,” Christopher said. “Dobbins was out, so Blanton was alone in the flat. He could have left, before or after that, and no one would have known about it.”
“And Hutchison was alone at his and Ogilvie’s place,” I added. “So Ogilvie was out, perhaps in the Morris. Then again, Hutchison could have been out and made it back by the time we got there. Even without a motorcar.”
“There’s no reason to think it was either of theirs anyway,” Crispin said. “London is full of Morris Oxfords.”
Yes, it was. They’re a lot thicker on the ground than Hispano-Suizas. Especially bright blue ones.
“At any rate,” I said, “none of them have an alibi for Gladys’s death. Except perhaps Ogilvie, depending on where he spent the day, and with whom. Blanton and Hutchison were both alone. Hutchison said he didn’t drop Gladys off at our place, by the way. And if Ogilvie had the motorcar, I suppose he couldn’t have. But we don’t know that Ogilvie did. Or that Hutchison didn’t.”
“Or that anyone dropped her off,” Christopher added. “Perhaps she took the tube. We did.”
I nodded. “We should ask Evans. He might have noticed how she arrived.”
“If whoever dropped her off didn’t want to be seen, he would have parked out of sight of Evans,” Christopher said, which was certainly true. “And with everything that’s happened today, we did nothing about contacting Rivers.”
“He wouldn’t have talked to you anyway,” Crispin said. “He requires a personal introduction, and although last night might have served as that under normal circumstances, he’d be extra careful today. If anyone is to contact him, it ought to be me.”
“He won’t come here to do business, surely?” I looked around the parlor, and by extension, Sutherland Hall, the village of Little Sutherland, and all of Wiltshire, hours away from London.
“If I paid him enough, he would,” Crispin said dryly, “but I imagine it would be easier if I were in Town.”
“You’ll come back up to London tomorrow morning, then?”
It was Tom who asked, and Crispin eyed him warily for a moment. “Are you arresting me?”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Not unless you want to confess to killing either Frederick Montrose or Gladys Long.”
“Of course I don’t. Although I imagine you could still arrest me—” he glanced at Christopher and me before looking back at Tom, “—arrest all three of us, for driving around with the body in the back of the motorcar. Not to mention for leaving it in Hyde Park instead of taking it to Scotland Yard or to hospital.”
“That’s true,” Tom agreed pleasantly. “I could do that. So you’ll come up to London tomorrow morning?”
Crispin’s eyebrow arched. “Blackmail, now?”
“Just say you’ll do it,” I said, irritated with the back and forth. “You know you’re going to, so just stop playing games and say you will.”
